Davie Jones
by davieisdead
Summary: The past isn't easy to erase from one's mind, especially when they are a nation. Forgetting even just one person might seem easy if you have hundreds of years to do so, but that isn't true. America subconsciously had avoided a little hole in his wild woods for hundreds of years. Inevitably, he stumbles across it again.


**A/N: This was based on a headcanon that I have. I won't reveal it for the sake of the plot, but I will expand on it at the notes at the end, I promise.**

 **Warning: Spoilers for the Davie strip/episode. Please don't read it if you haven't read/seen it yet. Then again, if you know my tumblr url, I guess that's pretty much useless.**

 **I was listening to Adele's When We Were Young through most of the writing process, because I am absolute trash and I'm apparently _still_ not over my Adele phase from 4 years ago. Thanks, Adele. You can listen to it while you read if you'd like.**

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"Davie!"

A child's voice, clear as a summer day, rang out through the meadows. Bright innocence, absolute purity. Flowers in a small, chubby hand, from all the way across a great ocean, a pretty violet-blue color, just like the sky that day.

The child remembers that his guardian had once said that yellow was the color of friendship, like the sun. Flowers surrounding friendship, he thinks, what a wonderful surprise, what nice words. He cannot wait to see the reaction on his friend's face.

Only a few moments later, when he sees the gray face of a old man and a tombstone being erected into the ground, does he realize- he will never see that reaction.

The flowers he had worked so hard to get were thrown onto hands folded over a heart that no longer beat, and a casket was closed. Lowered to the ground, covered completely.

The little boy, barely even seven mentally, was confused, heartbroken. He ran off, towards the town where a man from across his shining shores was there to meet him.

.

 _About three hundred years later._

The nations had come to an agreement. They were all to choose full names, human aliases, to go by to the public. While many had already used human names throughout the years, none had an official one.

America had always gone by the name Alfred when it was necessary. Alfred F., if someone happened to be curious. It was never much of a bother, but now a surname was needed.

He stepped off of the boat that had carried him home from Europe, and his feet immediately found a path that he did not usually walk.

The United States of America had always had a reputation of only talking if he found something interesting or his own ideas were ' _fucking amazing, dude_ '. Which, to be fair, was quite a lot. Alone, however, he was actually not the most talkative of people. That day in particular was an absentminded type of day for America, one where he was lost in a cloud of his own dreams. He did not bother to focus on where he had going, he had walked home thousands of times throughout the years.

Somehow, the feet that usually took him directly home led him astray, out into the wild fields, a place he usually avoided.

And for a reason as well.

When his legs stopped moving, America automatically stretched out his arm and tried to grip the doorknob of his front door. Instead, his palm smacked onto old stone, hard but worn.

Snapping out of his daydream, America cradled his now throbbing hand, wincing.

"Oww, what the he-"

Hissing quietly at the burn and pushing his glasses up with his good hand, he squinted at the faded writing engraved into what he could now see was a tombstone.

 _Here lies David Jones_

 _Affectionately called Davie by the ones closest to him_

 _A beloved father and friend to all those that he met_

 _Rest in peace_

The years and months were no longer legible, but America knew immediately just who was buried there and the exact dates that had faded away.

"Davie…"

A hurricane of thoughts swirled through his head. Why had he unconsciously brought himself here? A place he had avoided for so long, a place where the pain that he had left in his colonial years lay untouched, unmoved.

America fell to his knees.

Slowly, shakily, he traced the words carved into the stone. Not elegant, rather simple actually, but beautiful nonetheless.

A dam that had blocked those memories out broke inside of America, and tears streamed down his face at an uncontrollable rate, falling in patterns that weren't at all traceable, or stoppable.

Something seemed to have possessed him then, and he pushed himself off the ground and headed towards town once again, this time, towards a place he knew was full of flowers.

America was no quiet crier, and the florist that greeted him had a concerned expression when he stumbled in, sniffling and nearly choking on snot.

"Sir, are you alright?"

"I'm fine- doesn't matter- uh, do you- afff- have- umm-"

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted the kind that he needed. Grabbing them with an outstretched hand, he fumbled around his pocket till he found his wallet and tossed it to the florist.

"Take as much as this cost, I- uh- I'll be back to pick it up Igottagonow."

America ran out and sprinted back toward the meadows he had left a few minutes before. He made a skidding stop in front of the grave. Carefully, he placed it in front of the tombstone.

He backed up, and considered it. "No, no, it's not enough, he deserves more, more, where can I get more…"

He turned, starting to sprint back into town once more, when he halted to a stop.

The meadow was so beautiful. So much more colorful than he had remembered.

"That's right, he wouldn't have wanted something bought, he would have wanted to have something completely natural…"

Wandering around the fields, America picked the brightest flowers that he could find, sky blue, as golden as the sun, it didn't matter. It was for Davie, and by now America had realized that it wasn't the type of flower that was important. It was the meaning behind it.

Coming back to the tombstone, he laid the bundle of wildflowers in front of it. Slowly, he picked up the cornflower blue ones that he had bought and plucked out the seeds from one of the largest flowers. As carefully as he could, he planted them around the grave. He placed the flower that he took the seeds from and wiggled it snug in between the wildflowers.

 _It's spring,_ he thought, _The seeds will sprout easily._

He gripped the store bought bouquet. "I'll plant these in my backyard, alright Davie? To remind me of you. So I won't forget."

One last time, he read the words that were written on the stone. After what seemed like decades, he turned his back to the grave and started on his way home.

"Davie Jones, huh…"

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 **A/N:** **I had to live up to** **this pen name one day, right?**

 **Well, here's a little background on this headcanon: I have always loved the idea of the human/code names, so naturally, I had to connect it with pain somehow. This headcanon came from when I watched the Davie strip (finally) get animated (about time), that human names wouldn't just have any bland meaning to it, it would come from the nation's heart. So while it's not canon that Davie's last name is Jones, or that the nations even use their human names in the canon universe, I'd like to think that they would have chosen the names themselves. Therefore, America's surname could be shared with someone that was pretty damn important to him and his childhood- Davie.**

 **Consider this a little holiday present from me, since, knowing myself, I probably won't update for at least another week. Talk to me on tumblr if you want, it might help, who knows? But anyway, happy holidays, everyone! Reviews make my day!**


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